


alabaster vengeance

by orphan_account



Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Melodrama, Shakespeare Quotations, Sisters, its more light angst really, rambling about love and life and tears but up among the palace in the stars, really just....... lots of stuff about washi and her life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: But earthlier happy is the rose distilledThan that which, withering on the virgin thorn,Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.They do not understand her.Perhaps it is a choice, they look down on their little sister with her mortal man, and they cannot choose to understand what this boy has on their ivory palace spread across the stars.





	alabaster vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> LOVE THESE GIRLS

_ But earthlier happy is the rose distilled _

_ Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, _

_ Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. _

 

 

-

 

_ An intermission in the sky _

 

They do not understand her. 

 

Perhaps it is a choice, they look down on their little sister with her mortal man, and they  _ cannot _ choose to understand what this boy has on their ivory palace spread across the stars. 

 

Karasu mourns her, Washi comforts the other, and they become a duo bound together through grief and necessity. They are alabaster, they are vengeance and wrath and  _ twins,  _ fierce and unstable because a table cannot stand on two legs but they can kill and maim and soothe their father’s tears with a curse and a scream. 

 

They are bloodsoaked, they are glory and they are the whispers they share and Washi tilts her chin up and grabs her sister’s hand in the stars, when they look down and watch their sister dance and sing and glow with her husband. With her  _ child.  _

 

Their sister, she no longer looks like them and it is scary. It’s frightening, because they were promised no emotions, they were promised existence smooth and infinite, stretching out and out and out before them. If this is humanity, nothing but empty promises, twitching back from grabbing their father’s robes to cry, clinging to each other in the shadows on earth, too afraid of their father’s face if he saw them, the fact that they cannot do this at home in the stark light bathing everything, they think it is not for them. They grieve for her even more, she gave up immortality and stole it from them as well when she left. 

 

She looks so bright. For the first time there are colors, pinks bloom in her cheeks, she looks sad as they do. They think she feels the ache too. When they spy on her from up in the sky, they feel it, the ache deep and personal, when they cry it is blank faced, carefully painted on and they turn their envy into rage. 

 

They watch their sister step across the courtyard, late at night. She glides, graceful in a way that can’t be learned or taught, and turns her face to the moon. They see longing in her smile and it’s falsified and plastered on to  _ mock  _ their masks, she leaves her son and her husband for a moment and sinks to her knees with palms up to the sky. She isn’t human, painfully and strikingly so, she is a gross in between, and she knows this. She thinks of crisp lines and sharp turns, of battles won and hair pulled back, steel and porcelain cold and punishing. She thinks of family ramrod straight, hands clasped and bo staffs and looking identical to every star and she thinks of fitting in next to her twins and smiling. 

 

They watch. 

 

-

_ Act 2, after bugs and boys and monkeys _

 

Washi is alone, and she doesn’t think she is allowed to be broken. So, simple solution, she’s mad instead. 

 

She does not plan her future in boxes to check off, she doesn’t weave little stories like her sister, she sees what she’ll become in grand swoops and she’ll cut her family down and take it. 

 

Her father tells her that the point of them, the point of them is to be calculating and impassive and impartial. She is uncaring and that is close enough. She learns that there is something else, there is a price, a bonus fucking deal that comes along with the moon hanging behind her head like a halo. She can see time stretching out in front of her, she can see the world in blacks and whites, watch people like ants and laugh high pitched and cruel, she can see her future and her past and her world. 

 

Her world is lonely. 

 

She is veiled in black like a funeral, she has a scythe like the reaper, and she is dangerous. She’s held together and composed and calm and as in control as she’d like to be, but she cannot stop thinking. She cannot stop thinking of ivory skin and sentences finished for her, contrast and crystal tears that don’t fall and her twin sister’s blood on her hands in silver. Her skin is cold to the touch. She is a whirlwind and a killer and for the second time in hundreds of thousands of years she finds something else inside the shell of her. 

 

Once again, she really can’t see the appeal of humanity. Feelings are messy and loud and they make something pound in the back of her skull. She feels like she’s fuzzy. The edges of the world blend and blur over, she wants to make the monkey  _ bleed.  _ She appreciates it, for being ugly and hairy with big teeth, it is so far from her elegant sister painted in curves, she no longer feels a sadness. Inside her is only a chasm and she doesn’t know if she wants to fall into it. 

 

She tracked them down. She stalked like a bird of prey and didn't care to think too much about it, she followed them and waited for gratification, and she was left to her own goddamn devices until it didn't work and she failed for the first time in millennia. She had to ask  _ father  _ to trick them, humiliating and bitter, she was never meant to work alone. She was  _ designed  _ to work as a team, without her  _ sisters, _ she was incompetent. She didn't like that. The boy struck her down and when she whirled around, she was confused why they weren’t at her side. She screamed, she simpered, she toyed with the the boy and his friends, ( _ three of them, taken down by a  _ trio.  _ how _ ironic), and threw herself at them and put her head on the chopping block with a reckless viciousness she didn't know she possessed. She only hopes she killed them before she went. She doesn't know what to hope for anymore. 

 

Immortality is a scam. She is nothing, now. She is nothing but stardust sprinkled across her father’s sky, she can do nothing but watch now and it reminds her of her childhood. 

 

She wishes she could talk to her sisters. 

 

She wishes she weren't alone. 

 

She has always been a smart girl, she has always been clever and she knows, somewhere, that this is what he meant. She is empty at last, there is no flurry of sound, there is no metal clanging together, there is the night sky and the curve of her blade and the curve of the moon. She is in her place, she knows everything is in a carefully balanced line on a carefully balanced scale and she thinks she doesn't like it. She thinks she’ll be here for a while. 

 

(Her world is lonely. Her world is cold.) 

 

-

_ Act 1, as innocent as three sisters can be _

 

The three of them are unbeatable.

 

They are  _ unbreakable.  _

 

They are their father’s prized little things, pretty little princesses and they cut down his rivals like buckwheat. They are a machine, they speak in unison and giggle behind masks hidden behind trees on Earth. They  _ fly _ , they trace the breeze with their fingertips, they press palms to each other’s, they are balanced and make their world their own. They whisper about father, they know each other and they know that they are not what they seem. 

 

They are starlight and moonshine, they have ice in their smile and they toss their hair behind them in one sheet, they have claws and iron eyes. They are interlocking pieces of a puzzle, young and dumb. 

 

Sariatu concerns them. She never has before. She runs her hands over grass and lingers, she takes glances at the villages for too long. The other two, they don’t point it out, god forbid. But they notice, and they watch, and they think. 

 

It is fine, but they can trace the cracks and craters in her face when she falters and it's mottled just like the moon.

 

They do not know what will happen, and they think they don’t care. it’s for good reason, she needs them like they need her. They have their shiny family, perfect and pretty and glowing, up in the stars. Painting constellations with their breaths, she tosses her head and winks, causes a supernova. They are every symphony together, they are every painting and every chorus and every intermission, they are eternal and ethereal and nothing is out of place for even a second, spare Sariatu’s little glances. 

 

Washi doesn't laugh, she doesn't think she can. But she would, and she does on the inside, and it's freeing because when she touches her sister’s mask on her right, and even looks at the sister on her left, she knows they are too. And she knows they know. They are built for each other, born of everything divine and everything cosmic, and she would never admit it but she is thankful for that. She must thank father for that. 

 

They are sticky with blood, but they are together, they are harbingers, they are smiling sisters hand in hand. There is a beautiful echoing in identical voices, faces cast from the same mold of the same star-stuff, Washi can reach out and feel the strings of fate tying them together and she knows she can hear her sister’s thoughts as her own and speak for them and with them. They hold themselves almost conceited, they are secure in the knowledge that as a trio, a triad, they cannot be taken down by any means or force on this Earth or the next. They are beautiful, they are slots fitting together and gears interconnecting and three puzzle pieces falling in place, and they are infinite. 

 

She cannot wait to fly with them. She cannot let go of their hands. 

-

 

_ So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord.  _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hey follow me on tumblr @beefucker95


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